


test day

by kingofpentacles



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: (showering), Brief Sexuality, Catholic Guilt, Crying, Excessively, F/M, Fix-It, Gender Dysphoria, Happy Ending, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, Marijuana, Masturbation, Mello-centric, Outing, Peer Pressure, Period Typical Bigotry, Personal Favorite, Religious Guilt, Sort Of, Studying, Trans Near | Nate River, Transphobia, Underage Drug Use, Underage Smoking, Walking In On Someone, Wammy's House Era (Death Note), hah. it's not that deep, mello is That Religious Kid, praying, small amount of Angst, trans mello / mihael keehl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27593491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingofpentacles/pseuds/kingofpentacles
Summary: On the last Friday of every month, every child at Wammy's House has a test in every subject. This is called test day, and is universally both hated and looked forward to. Every test day, a piece of paper is posted on the bulletin board outside the library announcing their scores and updated ranks.Mello is doing just fine with it (with everything) until Near comes along...**there is no underage sex in this, but there is some sexuality and a young person's naked body is briefly described, nothing super explicit, though. if that bothers you, feel free to click out**
Relationships: Mello | Mihael Keehl/Near | Nate River
Comments: 18
Kudos: 31





	test day

**Author's Note:**

> this is pretty different from anything I've ever posted here, but I hope y'all enjoy it anyway. <3 it's very much Mello-centric and there is a lot of talk about gender dysphoria and religion, especially religious guilt. just letting you know. also, period-typical homophobic slurs are used. this is set in the ninety's and i treat it as such. 
> 
> mello and matt are about fourteen, near is thirteen. 
> 
> one more thing: i mentioned this in the summary, but again, there is no underage sex in this, no sex at all, actually, but a young person's naked body is described very briefly and there are a couple of very short masturbation scenes, NOTHING EXPLICIT. i'm not tagging this as underage because there is seriously nothing explicit about this- if you don't like it, please don't yell about it in the comments, just click exit and get on with your day. there are much worse things on the internet than this innocent little thing. i will probably be posting more things like this in the future, btw- though i'm definitely not stopping writing meronia porn lolz. i have several things in the works rn which i'm very excited to post ;)
> 
> that said. hope u enjoy :) this is not as angsty as the tags/notes make it seem btw lol. it's actually pretty innocent imo and definitely has a happy ending!!!

Mello felt sorry for the new kid. It was hard not to. He was short and skinny and looked years younger than he was, which was intensified by the fact that he only ever wore baggy pajamas, and played with toys all the time. Not even cool toys, like video games or a Roboraptor. Just cards and airplanes and crap. Baby stuff. 

All the other kids were mesmerized by him, like he was some celestial being instead of a weirdo with a toy obsession. It was such an obsession, in fact, that he didn’t even pay attention during lessons, just played with two sock puppets the entire time. Making them talk to each other under his breath. Everyone snuck looks at him on that first day, especially in the yard, where he only settled in a corner with a toy car or whatever and made it _nyoom_ around for the entire thirty minutes of their only free time all day. 

The next day was test day: the last Friday of the month. Mello had been up almost all night studying, and his jaw was sore from grinding his teeth, eyes dry from being open so long. The weird new kid- Near, his name was- beat him by a single percentage point. Knocked him off of the number one spot he’d held for seven months in a row, smooth and easy, like he was all that. Near didn’t say anything about this to him, even as they stood together, looking at the score sheet posted outside the library. Mello’s jaw dropped, and he stared at Near first with awe, then with anger. Near just gazed blankly at the score sheet like it was nothing, nodded at Mello (and what the hell was that supposed to mean?), and walked off. Like it didn’t matter. Like it wasn’t _the only thing that mattered_. 

Everyone gossiped about it for a week. Mello couldn’t walk into a room without getting smug looks and hearing whispers about _seven months in a row_ and _weird new kid_ and _like it was nothing_ and sometimes just plain old laughter. 

Near never said a word. Just looked at Mello sometimes, solemn but- was he imagining it?- vaguely interested. 

No, Mello decided. He was just arrogant. He was a _girly_ , scrawny, monochromatic pajama wearing freak. Mello was better than him, _easily_. He would prove it. 

-

Mello hated Near. This was all his fault. It was a sunny Friday afternoon; he should be out there playing kickball and celebrating the end of test day, not.. 

He sniffled (like a _baby_ ) and rubbed at his eyes crossly. His breaths were coming in harsh sniffs and jerks now, and his face felt stiff and hot from embarrassment and dried tears. He wished Matt was here. He’d sit next to him on the yellow grass behind the art building and they would bump shoulders (not in a _faggy_ way, just to say that he was there for him) and maybe smoke a cigarette and make fun of that doughy kid from AP Calculus AB. And not mention Near at all, or how easily he could beat Mello at everything without even trying. And how he didn’t even seem interested in being L’s successor. And how he didn’t even look at Mello, and didn’t care about competition, and didn’t care about anything except his stupid darts and dice and card towers that Mello longed to kick over, but couldn’t bring himself to. 

Yeah.. they wouldn’t talk about any of that. If Matt was here, they’d just smoke and laugh and ignore the obvious. But Matt was out there, playing kickball. Last week during break, they’d all decided that Mello was the best at kickball, and Matt was the second best. Near didn’t have a rank; he never played. He probably sucked at kickball, Mello told himself. If he had a rank, it’d be dead freaking last. Kid probably couldn’t even be in the sun for longer than a minute without passing out; he had that vampire/old lady look about him. He barely came outside for break anymore, preferring to stay inside and do whatever old lady crap he was into. Puzzles, probably, since he’d been into those more recently. God, what a _wuss_ . _(I mean, gosh_ , he thought.)

-

Mello leaned over his desk, head in his hands. Stewing in it. A little thought tried to voice itself in the background of his overwhelming anger ( _it doesn’t matter_ ) but it was barely in his head for a second before being shoved away. It _does_ matter, he snarled at the voice, because I have to pull an all nighter since I keep screwing up in Organic Chem, and because Near gets a hundred on _every freaking test_ , so I have to get a hundred too (at _least_ that, and hopefully more because sometimes Dr. Anderson does a bonus question and I have to get that, too). Also, everyone knows that Mello’s and Matt’s room shares a wall with the boy’s showers and they all _specifically made a deal_ to never shower after ten in the evening, and if the _amnesiac idiot_ in the showers at this hour didn’t stop dropping shampoo bottles and humming that stupid commercial jingle, he was going to explode. 

He slammed his notebook shut and stomped down the short path to the showers. The door was closed, of course, and he kicked it open with a satisfying _SLAM!,_ completely prepared to shout at whomever was disturbing his precious study time.

And froze.

The room was a long and open space with shower heads fixed about seven feet up the walls every ten feet. They didn’t all shower together at once, since there was no fixed shower time (except the “no showering after ten” rule this _jerk_ refused to follow), but sometimes there were a couple people at once, steadfastly refusing to make eye contact. That wasn’t the case now. There was just one person. One very familiar, very _naked_ person. That would have been okay, obviously- he _wanted_ that. He wanted to yell at the perpetrator while they were butt-naked, startled and shivering. He just hadn’t expected the perpetrator to be Near. And he certainly hadn’t expected the perpetrator to have breasts. Tiny ones, but breasts nonetheless. Also, no _thing_ , which pretty much cemented it: 

Near was totally a girl. 

If you were to ask Mello about it later, he’d say he _didn’t_ make an incredibly embarrassing yelping sound when they made eye contact, and then come _this_ close to crashing on the slippery ceramic floor in an attempt to bolt. In reality, he definitely did that.

Heart pounding like a rabbit’s, he scrambled through the door, tripped through the steps it took to get to his shared bedroom, and slammed his own door shut. Matt startled awake, bleary-eyed and messy-haired. 

“What?” he croaked. 

Mello could feel his heartbeat in his fingertips. The image of Near’s stunned face when they’d locked eyes was flashing across his mind again and again. 

“Near is-” he got out, and then his thoughts froze.

Matt was staring at him. 

“Did you just wake me up for no reason?” he said slowly. 

“Erm..” Mello said. “..Yeah. Sorry,” then began to gather up his study supplies: notebooks, highlighter, pencils. There was no way he was going to be able to study tonight.

He laid down in bed and didn’t remember falling asleep when he woke. His first thought was of Near. Did everybody else know that he was a girl? (She?) Was Mello the only one that didn’t know? ..somehow, he didn’t think so. If everyone knew he (she) was really a girl, they’d be calling him (her) _she_ and _her_ . God, this was confusing. _I mean, gosh,_ he amended. It was confusing because Near really didn’t seem like a girl. But obviously, body-wise, he was. But personality-wise, he was a boy. Which didn’t make sense at all. And was probably a sin, right? Shouldn’t you have to accept what you were given? 

Mello felt queasy, and his face was starting to feel hot. This was all wrong. Near shouldn’t be allowed to be a boy. He- _she-_ was a _girl_ , and that was that. His stomach churned with nausea. This wasn’t right. He had to tell someone, and get Near to stop it.

-

“Near’s a girl.”

Roger’s office smelled like books and coffee, and the air was still. Roger sat at his desk, unimpressed by Mello’s words. Mello began to repeat them.

“I said, Near’s a-”

“No, he isn’t,” Roger interrupted calmly. 

Mello’s anger flared. He knew this was true, and Roger was just ignoring him. “Yes, he is!” Mello insisted. “I know it!”

“How do you know, Mello?” 

Mello was brought up short, and he felt his face grow hot for the second time that day. “I just _know_ ,” he hissed. “Okay?”

Roger sighed, and Mello wanted to _yell_ and _break_ something and-

“Near is transgender. He was born as a girl, but his mind is a boy’s mind. So we call him a boy.”

Mello’s hands were cold and his stomach _hurt_ . “That’s not-” he started, then stopped. _Fair_ , he was going to say, but that didn’t make sense, no. 

“That’s not..” he started again. _Allowed_ . _Okay_ . _Righteous_? 

Instead of finishing, he spun on his heel and walked out. It was test day. He needed to study, anyway, before breakfast ended and tests began. 

-

Near beat him again, by three percentage points. Near, in his white pajamas, with his toy cars, who looked at Mello with intrigue and, after the shower incident, a decent amount of wariness. 

Near, who was secretly a girl, but not really. 

Mello searched up “transgender” on the computer in the library. The results told him that Near was not mentally ill or sick, just different. Mello wondered what God thought about transgenders. He went to bed early and tried not to think about girls turning into boys and boys turning into girls. His stomach hurt.

The next day, Matt cornered him and asked him what his deal was. 

“I don't have a deal,” Mello snapped at him, shoving him out of his face. 

“You clearly do, dude.” Matt was stubborn. “You didn’t go over your notes last night. And you skipped breakfast the other day.” 

“To study.”

“Yeah, right.” Matt was in his face again, all amber tinted goggles and freckles on freckles. His voice was soft. “What happened, man?” 

Mello bit his lip. 

-

“That just doesn’t make sense.”

“Exactly,” Mello said, relieved. Finally, someone understood. They were outside. It was break time, finally, and they had foregone kickball to sit behind the art building and sit on the patchy grass there. Every once in a while, another kid would try to sit next to them, or convince them to join the game, and Mello would hiss at them, or Matt would throw grass at them. “Why would Roger just let him do that?”

“No,” Matt said. “I mean, being transgender doesn’t make sense.” 

Mello’s heart thudded in his chest. “Right,” he said. Matt side-eyed him. 

“You’re being weird about this, you know.”

“No, I’m not.” 

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, y-”

“Oh my gosh, will you shut up already?”

“ _Jesus_ , fine.”

“And don’t use the name of the-”

“-the Lord in vain, yeah, I get it.”

They were silent for a long time, and then Matt produced a cigarette and lighter from deep inside his pockets and offered the former to Mello, whose mouth twisted. 

“That’s a sin, you know.”

“Mello, we smoke at least once a week.”

“I know, I just..” Mello trailed off. He needed to calm down, and he knew this would help. Hail Mary, full of grace.. He took the cigarette. 

“You don’t think you’re going to Hell for smoking, do you?” Matt said, flicking the lighter on with a raspy click. 

“I don’t know,” Mello mumbled, smoke leaving his mouth, a bitter, stinging feeling in his jaw and chest. 

Matt took the cigarette directly from his mouth and took a drag. “If you go to Hell, Mello, it won’t be for smoking cigarettes.” 

Mello couldn’t stop staring. His heart thudded in his chest, and he could feel it in his neck, in his throat. His lungs weren't working, pulling too little air, taking too shallow breaths. 

Matt looked at him, mouth working on nothing. He took another drag and blew it the other direction. 

"Listen," he said low, looking him right in the eye. Amber goggles flashing in the sunlight. "Are you gay or something?" 

Mello stomach squeezed. "No," he whispered, sick to his stomach. "How- why- what the hell, Matty? Why would you say something like that?" 

Matt shrugged. He played with the lighter, flipping it between his fingers quickly. Fidgeting. 

"Dunno. You're just- I dunno. I get a vibe."

"I'm not." 

"Alright then." 

"Matty, I'm not." 

"I believe you." Fidgeting. 

"No, you don't." 

Matt grinned. "No, I don't."

Mello felt his eyes stinging and looked away. 

"Hey, hey- Mel. Look at me." He did. "I'm cool with it. Just so you know. Don't cry, man. I don’t actually think you’re going to Hell. I just said that 'cause like- you're so obsessed with all this- queer stuff, and Near's transgender thing, and.. I dunno. I just wondered." 

"I'm not." 

"Cool." Matt squeezed his shoulder. Took a drag. Blew it in his face. Grinned. 

-

It had been two weeks, and when Mello caught Near looking at him again, it was during AP Biology. Mello was taking notes. He looked up to the chalkboard and realized from his periphery that Near was staring at him. At first, he thought that he had something on his face, that’s how intense the stare was. But then Near hastily looked away and Mello realized that he’d just been.. Watching. Eyes big and round and full of interest. 

..what a freak. 

But if anyone was as freak-ish as Near, it was Mello. He couldn’t stop thinking about Near, and the transgender thing, and Near’s transgender thing. It turned over in his head again and again, and he couldn’t escape it. He prayed about it, on his knees, in front of his bed. As a very young child, he’d learned a prayer for guidance. It was one of the first he’d ever memorized, besides the Hail Mary. He recited it so many times now that words all seemed to run together. _Dear Lord, I am calling upon you today for your divine guidance and help, I am in crisis and need a supporting hand.._

Matt was sick of talking about it, and told him so. 

“Listen, this whole transgender thing is getting boring. I’m sick of talking about it.” 

That was how he said it. 

Test day was coming up. So was Sunday. He studied. He prayed. He tried not to think about Near. 

-

Near beat him by six points. The other students noticed the slip and whispered about it incessantly. _He’s losing it_ , the bolder ones said. If they knew what was good for them, they’d shut up before he beat the crap out of them. ..oh. _Dear Lord, I am calling upon you today for your divine guidance and help. I am in crisis and need a supporting hand to keep me on the right and just path.._

Matt muttered something about them being pricks, and led him out of the library by the arm to their room. They sat on his bed and smoked one, two, three, cigarettes.. _My heart is troubled but I will strive to keep it set on you, as your infinite wisdom will show me the right way to a just and right resolution._

-

Mello walked up to Near and sat right next to him. The windows in the library were huge and let in a flood of sunlight that made Near’s white pajamas glow. (He looked like an angel in one of those paintings Mello stared at during church, as a kid, before he came here.) Near was staring at him. 

“Hey..” he began. 

Near’s face was blank. He didn’t look like a girl. But Mello knew that, under his clothes.. He swallowed. 

“How did you know you were transgender?”

Near’s eyes widened. They were grey. Mello had never noticed that before. (Though, he thought, he’d never even been this close to Near. Or even talked to him). Near twirled his hair. 

“Why are you talking to me?” Near said. His voice was very.. Smooth. Or something. He didn’t sound like a girl. He just sounded like himself. “I thought you hated me.”

“I do,” he said automatically, then winced. “I mean, no, I don’t.”

“..right.” Near went back to playing. He was doing a puzzle that was almost entirely white. Mello sort of wanted to try it, but didn’t, just in case he couldn’t figure it out faster than Near. 

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“That’s because,” Near held a single finger in the air. “I think it’s a stupid question. And because you’re invading my privacy.” 

Mello’s jaw dropped, and he began to talk, but Near spoke again. 

“You already know what I look like naked. So it’s natural, I think you’d agree, for me to prefer to keep some things to myself.” His hand slowly came up, and his index finger pointed to touch his own temple. “I think you can figure this out yourself. But here’s a hint: sometimes, you just know.” 

Near clicked another piece into his white puzzle. Mello wanted to _scream_. Instead, he stood and left. 

-

Sometimes, you just know. _Sometimes_ , you just _know_. 

-

“So what you're saying is, you're a chicken?’

“Matt,” Mello warned under his breath. Professor Albert was eyeing them every once in a while, more irritated each time. Her eyes were tiny and dark, and her nose was long and sharp, so she sort of resembled an angry hawk, and Mello had to admit, he was a little scared. Not _scared_ , just cautious. “She can hear you!”

“Nah,” Matt whispered. “It’s chill. She loves me.”

Her eyes flashed onto them again. Mello gulped. She didn’t look like she loved Matt right now. She looked like a hawk, and they were.. Rodents. Whatever hawks ate, damn it. ..oh. _Darn_ , he amended, and crossed himself in his head. Matt rolled his eyes. 

“Are you crossing? Quit that.”

“Sh!” he hissed.

“Mello,” Professor Albert interrupted him crisply. _Oh, shit._ Mello thought. _I mean, darn._ And crossed himself in his head. 

“Yes, Professor?” he said politely. 

“Is whatever you’re talking about with Matt more important than you and your peers’ learning time?”

The class, paying rapt attention, snickered. Mello sighed inwardly. “No, Professor. I’m sorry.” He shot a glare at Matt, who was giggling silently. Albert stared at them for a moment and the class snickered again. Dipwads. 

The professor turned silently back to the board and continued lecturing. Everyone went _oooooh_ , like she’d dissed him. He shot them each a long, mutinous glare until they looked away. 

The rest of the hour was spent pretending to take notes (he already knew the material, so it wasn’t _bad_ ; Near probably did the same thing every day) and instead practicing flashcards under his desk as quietly as possible. Matt didn’t take notes either, just stared out the window, bounced his leg, and occasionally poked him with his TOO COOL TO DO DRUGS pencil that he’d sharpened down to say DO DRUGS. _The pencil and the owner have something in common, then_ , Mello thought wryly. 

Matt had been pressuring him to defile his temple recently. By that, he had explained to God last night, he meant that Matt wanted him to do marijuana with him. He’d refused. He wasn’t a chicken, it was just that he wanted to glorify God with his body. Matt hated it when he said stuff like that; he’d always laugh and say something like, _dude, you already smoke cigarettes_ and _doesn’t God want you to be happy?_ Or, if he was in a bad mood, _Mel, you sound like a real faggot right now. Is that why you’re kneeling in front of your bed all the time? ‘Cause you’re practicing sucking co-_

Matt poked him again. “Dude,” he said under his breath. “You’re shuffling your cards like they owe you money.” 

The bell rang.

At midnight, Matt produced a joint from somewhere in his neverending pockets, and they smoked it on his bed in the dark, the orange glow of it lighting up the dark room so prettily (hailmaryfullofgracethelordiswiththeeblessedartthouamongwomenandblessedisthefruitofthywombjesusholymarymotherofgodprayforussinnersnowandatthehourofourdeath) and for the first time in weeks, Mello relaxed. He and Matt talked about nothing and everything (with the exception of those few subjects that made Mello’s stomach churn) and laughed about things that weren’t really funny in hindsight. Mello didn’t study, but he’d been studying all week. It would be okay, Matt convinced him. They fell asleep together. 

Test day. Mello was listed second. Near, first. A single point separated them. One. Mello went to his room and screamed into his pillow. And cried. Matt didn’t say a word when he walked in, just handed him a cigarette and patted his shoulder.. 

When Mello finished studying in the library that afternoon, he looked up to see Near a ways away, across from him, spread out on the floor and working on a card tower that was offensive, it was so good. Mello gathered his things, walked past him, and kicked it. With one kick, the entire thing collapsed. _Fwoosh_. Mello didn’t look back, but he hoped Near looked hurt. He hoped he cried. 

-

Sometimes, when he was in bed, Mello’s hand came up to his chest and just.. Laid there. Flat.

(Did you go to Hell for wondering what having breasts was like? For wanting them? It didn’t matter, because he _didn’t.)_

-

Every two weeks at Wammy’s, a hair stylist came to cut everyone’s hair, one by one. When Mello was called, he told Roger that he needed to study. Roger accepted the thinly veiled excuse, and Mello went back to his room and didn’t think about it at all. (Sometimes, you just know.)

He studied almost all night, until three in the morning, and woke up in his bed at dawn with wet cheeks from a dream about Near crying, eternally drowning in fire, in Hell. Mello was gasping, and his shirt stuck to his back with sweat. 

Matt’s bed squeaked, and Mello hid his face in his pillow and prayed to God that he was asleep. But God probably wasn’t listening. 

-

Mello looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was growing out, now, since Roger had accepted every crap excuse he’d made to not have his hair cut. He could probably just tell him that he was growing it out now, but that would feel like losing, somehow. Or like admitting to having lost. The longer hair made his face look rounder, made him look more.. He turned and looked at his profile. His body was.. skinny. Maybe he should stop skipping meals so much. Maybe he’d look.. Softer, that way. Near looked soft. Under his clothes, he had. He’d had curves, and small, white breasts and a soft bum. Mello closed his eyes, face burning. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the time of our death. 

Would Mother Mary hate him? Mello opened his eyes and looked at himself. Yes, he decided. God, too. 

Later that night, Mello laid in bed. Praying. But God wasn’t listening, he was sure of that. If God was listening to him, his prayers would have been answered already, and he wouldn’t still have this.. Illness in him. This horrible envy. And hatred of himself, and of his body. His body was a _temple_ , he had to keep telling himself. A _gift_ from God. He ached to.. 

"Matt," Mello whispered. "Are you awake?" 

Silence. He hoped he wasn't. 

Mello looked between his legs and felt the stiffness there and wondered how Near could possibly want such a thing. How _anyone_ could. He swallowed. He didn’t feel like his body was a temple, or a gift. He felt like it was _wrong_ . (But God was never wrong.) He rolled over in bed and put a hand on his- thing- and stroked it, softly. It felt nice. Did girls touch themselves? Surely they did. Girls were human, too. How did they do it? Just- stroking? Like this? His heart seemed to be beating right up against his skin, everywhere, and fast. That felt good, too: pretending he was a girl, touching himself like girls did. He wondered how Near- stop it, stop it, _stop_ it. Just because God wasn’t listening didn’t mean he could- sin, like this. And this felt like the ultimate sin, worse than anything he’d ever done, even that time he’d given Tommy a bloody lip for shoving him. He wanted to puke. He wanted to cry. He bit his lip, hard, and pushed his thing between his legs to make it go away, just for a moment. It hurt a little, but it felt good, to have it- hidden like this. It felt- right. To have it gone. 

He grit his teeth and didn’t let himself cry, and didn’t touch himself again. _I’m sorry_ , he thought weakly, just in case God was listening. 

-

Three months went by: test day, test day, test day. Mello didn’t talk to or look at Near, though he felt his round eyes on him all the time. Mello studied; Mello prayed; Mello skipped meals; Mello cut his hair again. Short, this time. It made his jaw look sharp, and he avoided looking in the mirror all the time. He played kickball and yelled at the younger kids for screwing up. He messed with people he didn’t like, he snarled at teachers, he studied until he woke up drooling on his notes, at the desk in his room. When he cried, Matt patted his arm and offered him cigarettes. Sometimes he sat by him as he studied, playing some beeping game on his GameBoy. Every once in a while he rested his head on his shoulder as he played. Mello didn’t ever respond. Just rewrote his notes, committing them to memory. Preparing himself to lose to Near, in so many ways, again and again and..

One night, when Mello was alone in the library, Near sat next to him. Mello’s eyes narrowed. 

“What do you want?” He tried to growl, but his voice was tired, and it came out weak and pitiful. He almost winced, but caught himself. 

“I just wanted to say,” Near said in a monotone, “I liked your long hair. I think it made you look very nice.” 

Mello froze, anxiety pooling in his stomach. Did he know? He looked to his side to see Near looking as expressionless as always.

“Why should I care what you think?”, was his automatic response. 

Near just looked at him, and Mello had to fight not to flinch under his gaze. _Weak_. “I never said you had to,” he said quietly. “But I also wanted to say that.. I knew I was a boy when I was very young. I wished for.. Boy parts. And wished certain other parts would go away. And realized I wasn’t like girls my age, and then, that I wasn’t a girl at all. When my parents died and my home was destroyed in a fire, all my official documents were destroyed, and I told people that I was a boy and felt joy when they accepted me as such. That’s when I knew.” 

Mello felt like his stomach was wringing itself into a knot. He realized, horrified, that he could feel his throat swelling with tears. Near was looking at him, not judging, just _looking_. Seeing right through him. 

“Go away,” he whispered. Near nodded, and did. 

That night, he crawled into bed with Matt. Matt was almost asleep- it was midnight, after all- but he wormed his way into Matt’s arms and settled there, and Matt squeezed him into a hug and didn’t make a joke about him being a fag. “I think,” Mello whispered, voice thick with unshed tears. “I think I’m messed up. Or something. I don’t know. I think I need help.” 

Matt’s voice was sleepy. “I know, Mel. It’s cool. Let’s figure it out tomorrow.”

-

Matt stole some hair clips from Linda. They were small and plastic and shaped like butterflies. There were hot pink ones and soft blue ones and bright orange ones and light green ones. Matt looked incredibly pleased with himself when he passed the handful of clips to Mello.

“There ya go,” he said. 

Mello raised his eyebrows. “What am I supposed to do with these?”

“Put ‘em in your hair, dude. And if you’re a girl, you’ll like it. Obviously.” 

Mello swallowed. His stomach hurt. Was this a sin? It felt like it. “What if I’m a girl that doesn’t like hair clips?”

Matt frowned, like he’d never heard of such a thing. “Just do it, man.”

Mello looked at him, and he blushed. 

“Oh, right. Sorry.. girl.” 

Mello paused. “That might actually be worse.”

“Whatever. Put ‘em in your hair, girl.”

He sighed, and did. Each little clip eased open with some difficulty and a small squeak. He grabbed a strand of short hair and put a bright orange clip on, clipping it to the rest of his hair. It looked.. Like complete crap. Matt burst out laughing. 

“I guess you’re not transgender, then,” he said. 

Mello bit his lip, looking at his reflection again. There was a long silence. 

“Sorry,” Matt said quietly. Mello took out the clip and stared at it. 

“Maybe I need a different color.” Matt nodded eagerly at this, jumping on the (slight) change of subject. 

“Yeah, yeah, do blue.”

Mello did, and this time, put it on the side of his head instead. That looked better, actually. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and imagined himself with long hair again, and a butterfly clip on the side. That.. wasn’t too bad. He pushed his chin up, studying his reflection. He imagined his jaw a little softer, his hips a little rounder, his chest a little fuller. Still Mello, just more.. Herself. 

“You look good,” Matt said softly, interrupting his thoughts. He looked at him and felt his lips quirk up into the first genuine smile he’d had in months. Then footsteps sounded outside the bathroom, and they had to scram. 

But back in their bedroom, he scooped the blue butterfly clips up and hid them in one of his clothes’ drawers. He’d wear them in his room, nowhere else. For now, though, he studied. 

That night, he repeated the serenity prayer so many times that the words blurred together and he almost fell asleep on his knees, with his head on the foot of his bed. 

-

Mello ate breakfast the next day and felt energetic enough to play kickball during break, which he hadn’t done in a while (he’d developed a habit of skipping break to study in the library). Near was out, for once, and when Mello kicked the ball far enough for a home run, he would swear he glimpsed Near smiling at him. 

Test day was tomorrow. 

He stood outside of the library the next day, gazing at the sheet of paper pinned to the bulletin board. Near beat him by three percentage points. He felt.. He felt okay. He understood. God wanted him to work hard, he knew that, but God also wanted him to be happy. When he studied as much as he did, especially without winning, it hurt him, and he wasn’t happy. Maybe this was a sign from God, telling him to focus on other things. Maybe He would find a way to make him a successor to L anyway, or maybe he had another path in life. It made him nervous to think of any future other than being the next L, but he knew God would provide. 

He smiled at the sheet of paper, then at Near, who had walked up behind him in the few seconds he’d been staring at the scores. Near gazed at the sheet, then at him. Mello just nodded, accepting, and walked away, feeling Near’s eyes on him, but not looking back. 

Near sat next to him in the library the next day as he rewrote his AP Biology notes. Mello froze, but didn’t tell him to leave. He wondered what he was going to say. But he didn’t say a word, just worked on a puzzle. At the last minute, though, as Mello was packing his things, he said, quietly, “Is this okay?”

Mello thought for a moment. Nodded. And walked off. 

That night, when Matt was definitely asleep (snoring a bit), Mello's hand drifted between his legs and his eyes squeezed shut and he thought of Near’s pink lips and smooth voice and curves that he envied so. 

-

Haircut day. Mello stalked into Roger’s office and said, “Roger, I don’t want a haircut. I'm growing my hair out.” 

Roger just looked at him over a cup of tea, and nodded. “That’s alright, Mello,” he said. Mello grinned triumphantly. 

-

They studied together, now. Actually, Mello studied; Near played, or appeared to. She was starting to suspect Near actually _was_ studying, though, because sometimes he would mumble things under his breath as he played, or make his sock puppets talk to each other about the American Revolutionary War, or whatever. 

One day, she stopped in the middle of writing flashcards for Organic Chem, and thought for a moment, then looked over at Near. He was flying a plane ( _nyoom,_ he said under his breath). 

“I’m sorry I knocked over your tower that one time,” she said, very quickly, like she had to get it out or she’d explode. (That _was_ sort of how she felt, actually.) 

He gazed at her, still holding the plane in the air, and nodded solemnly. 

“And-” she had to say this one even more quickly, “I’m-sorry-I-walked-in-on-you-showering.”

Near thought for a moment, then nodded again. 

“I forgive you,” he said. 

-

The library was silent and still, and specks of dust floated in the sunlight. 

“I have girl clothes,” Near announced. Mello looked up from her notes. 

“Huh?”

“I said,” Near repeated, “I have girls’ clothing. If you’d like it. I’m not sure if they’ll fit you, but some of the skirts are too big for me, and I thought you might-”

“Yes,” Mello blurted. There were three skirts and two blouses and a bra and panties. Mello’s mouth felt dry when Near came by her and Matt’s room with the clothes. They were tacky and probably too big for her, too, but she loved them already. Matt looked at the pile of clothes on his bed and smirked. 

“Wanna do a fashion show?”

Mello scoffed, but privately thought that she wouldn’t mind. 

Only one of the skirts fit her. It was swishy and purple and went to her ankles. She looked at her reflection and shivered with glee. She felt _right_. 

The bra and panties were too much, though. They actually looked like they’d fit, but she thought she might cry if she put them on. 

-

Near made her a bracelet in art class. It was sort of ugly, black and blue with some silver charms on it, but Mello’s heart had swelled with happiness when he gave it to her, and she wore it the next day. 

People snickered at her behind her back, but it wasn’t as if she didn’t hear them. Matt heard them too, and gave them the beating of a lifetime (since he wasn’t scared of Hell, he could do things like that). Nobody laughed at her after that.

-

On the day they found out L had died, Mello was wearing blue butterfly clips in her hair. Not Linda’s, hers. They were an early birthday present from Near, and they didn’t squeak like the old ones. Her hair was longer now, since it had been months, and it actually needed clips to look decent, and not shaggy. She was eating breakfast every day now, and her hip bones didn’t jut out as much. (She felt curvy. She felt wonderful.) 

But now L was dead. Kira had beat him, had murdered him, and everything was going to go to crap- oh. 

“Who did he choose as his successor?” Mello demanded to know. She may have been more calm about it now, but this was still the most important thing in her life. 

Roger sighed. “He didn’t choose.”

Mello’s heart dropped into her stomach. “So..” she whispered. “So, who?”

Roger looked at them both over his clasped hands, like how Mello prayed. (A flash of a prayer went through her head, now, one word: _please._ Or, please let it be okay, please let it turn out well. Please let me be happy, and let Near and Matt be happy, too, and let us all be happy together.)

“Why don’t you work together?”

Mello was frozen, and then her heart surged, and she actually laughed with happiness and lightness and _love_. She dropped to her knees in front of Near and hugged him, hard. 

Then she froze again, pulling back. Near looked dazed, a little stunned. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I mean.. Do you want to work together?”

Near looked into her eyes, and his face slowly opened into the biggest smile he’d ever given her, and it was like another present, even better than the butterfly clips. 

“Yes,” he said simply. 

She grinned, feeling another wave of happiness, and kissed him. ..oh. Oops. She pulled back, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear. 

“Sorry,” she breathed. But Near just brought a hand to her face, to her soft jawline, and pulled her in for another kiss. His mouth and face and hand were so warm and nice, and she hummed with happiness into the kiss. 

Roger ahem-ed behind his desk. “I’m assuming that’s a yes?” he said, amused. 

Mello looked at him and grinned. 

-

Mello wore girl clothes everyday now- not girl clothes- _her_ clothes. Mostly shiny leather and black skinny jeans and big boots that could easily curbstomp transphobes. And Near’s bracelet. And red or black bras that didn’t really hold anything, but made her feel so, so good. 

Matt and Near and her solved cases together, and she always yelled with joy when they caught criminals, and kissed Near after each win- first, after the Kira case, and after every case since. Matt always looked amused, like Roger had after their very first kiss, and made “tsk” noises, like “you kids…”. But he was happy for them. 

She still talked to God every night. God made her in His image and she was beautiful the way she was, she knew that now. She wasn’t going to Hell for being herself. 

**Author's Note:**

> this was very interesting to write. it was fun to get into mello's head the way i did for this fic. let me know what you liked about it in the comments below / push that kudos button !! hope u enjoyed. if not, uhhh. don't tell me.


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